


Se Repentir Des Péchés Jamais Commis

by MonsieurMadeleine



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Electrocution, Execution, Frederick is Cruel AF, M/M, Poor Hanni, Poor Will, Suicide, electric chair, farewell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-07 17:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15224249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsieurMadeleine/pseuds/MonsieurMadeleine
Summary: Will is sentenced to the electric chair. Hannibal is heartbroken, but Will accepts his fate. Even if his heart is broken by it just as badly as Hannibal's. Even if his punishment isn't fitting for the sins he committed.NOTE: This is inspired by the Green Mile execution of Eduard Delacroix. The title is French in tribute to both Eduard and Stephen King.





	Se Repentir Des Péchés Jamais Commis

Will sobbed as he closed the envelope. So at least Hannibal will know, he thought,

Frederick growled as he pulled the other man upright. It was time for the man to die, after all. And to his surprise there was no struggle. Will just allowed the handcuffs to be placed around his wrists, binding his arms behind him. Slowly they walked over to the room where the electric chair was located. A small crowd of fifty people had gathered to see the execution. And on the front row sat Jack, of course. Next to him was Alana, who had already shed tears.  And in the middle of the front row he saw Hannibal. He remained calm, or managed to mask his emotions well.

Though it took him a lot to just fearlessly face the crowd, he managed.

Calmly he sat as the orderlies placed the straps around his wrists, gaze entwined with Hannibal's. Silently he prayed for the letter to eventually reach the man. Silently he prayed for Frederick to actually deliver it. No, he wouldn't deliver it himself. He would have it delivered.

The cloth was placed over his head, an opening in it for his nose. It pressed his curls against his forehead. The soft brown curls he wanted Hannibal to carress. There was so much he wanted the man to do. So much he would never experience.

He couldn't see it, yet he knew an orderly was going for the sponge that was supposed to be placed on his head. But then he heard a smack of skin to skin.

'You know very well that  _I_ would do that', he heard Frederick snarl. A shaky apology from Matthew followed.

Then there were hurried footsteps. The shoes squeaked and tapped as he approached. It was Hannibal, Will knew by the expensive cologne. And then a hand pulled the mask off, a gasp racing through the crowd.

'Hanni,' Will muttered. 'Don't do this to yourself. Please don't embarrass yourself just for the sake of an insane FBI profiler. Please just go.'

'No', the psychiatrist simply answered. 'I love you and everyone is allowed to know.'

I'm sorry it had to be this way... I mean... I love you too but... I'm sorry.'

'Sir, please get out of the way', Matthew interrupted, already approaching them.

'I love you very much my love', Hannibal repeated one final time before kissing Will on the lips. It was a long, fearful kiss. And a goodbye. Then Hannibal stood, turning away from his lover to get back to his seat.

Yet again the cloth was put over Will's head, and now it was for real. It would be removed when he was dead, no earlier.

The sponge was now ceremonially put on his head. He sighed. Then this was it. This was how he was going to die.

But wasn't the sponge supposed to be... wet?

'Will Graham, elictricity shall now be coursed through your body until you are dead in accordance with state law.' Will could hear in Frederick's voice that he was actually enjoying this. He seriously liked condemning a man to death. Yes, he was truly a sadist at heart.

Under the mask Will breathed in and out, sucking the mask in when he inhaled, bloating the mask when he exhaled. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat. He sighed as his sight - not that he saw much apart from the darkness inside the mask - blurred with tears. And yet he refused to sob. He would face his death like a man. He wouldn't give Frederick the satisfaction of seeing him spend the last minutes of his life crying.

With uncontained glee lingering in his voice Frederick commanded the switch to be flipped, for death to commence. A buzzing was heard and then it happened. Unbearable pain shot through Will's body. It hurt so fucking badly. It hurt like... like... He found he wasn't even capable of thinking anymore, except for the one thought racing through his head over and over again: _I can't do this anymore..._ that soon reduced to a simple _I can't_. The electric force would simply toss him around in the chair for as far as the restraints around his wrists and ankles would allow him to.

Everything was simply engulfed in the heat. The sounds around him got louder, lightning was thundering above and people were screaming. Around him the orderlies started to panic as well. They spoke - no, shouted - no, barked about the sponge, now finally realizing that it wasn't wet. He could smell the smoke coming from his own body. He could smell his own scorched hair, and though he had believed it was impossible up until now, he feared his skin had started to melt. Tears he sobbed would immediately evaporate, if they even had the chance to exist. He faintly heard the people scream.

'Oh my god!' he heard a woman cry.

'Is this how these thing usually go?' another woman asked.

'Of course not!' a third male voice answered.

All had crowded at the exit. All tried to get away from the horrific smell and the horrific scene in general. But somehow he knew that one of them had stayed at their seat, perhaps two more. Jack would stay, perhaps. He could faintly picture him holding Alana in his arms as she sobbed, for many of the woman did so at this point. But they weren't the ones he concerned himself about. No, it was Hannibal that his thought and concern went out to. It was the man for who he'd do this a dozen times if only he would desire it. He imagined the man sitting with his legs crossed in his signature fashion as he watched his lover thrash. Tears would blur the psychiatrist's sight, and yet he would refuse to allow the tears to fall. He would not have it, especially not with smarmy Frederick around to laugh in his face.

Everyone was screaming and shouting, and it would be at this point that he realized he too was one of them. He hadn't recognized his own voice for it had been deformed in inhuman suffering. Screams tore from his lungs, or that what remained of them.

This was how it was going to end for him. This was how he was going to die, thrashing in an electric chair, the dry sponge on his head causing the suffering. Not that much remained of the sponge. But there wasn't much remaining of him either.

He was glad when the consciousness started to fade away from him. Yes, the end of the torturous track was finally in arm's reach. Just a few more seconds and then... Is the blissful realization he even managed a pathetic facial expression. Something that was supposed to resemble a smile.


End file.
